


You you daft idiot

by TalesInInkAndStars



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I love these characters like nothing else, No you don't understand you too!, Poor oblivious babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesInInkAndStars/pseuds/TalesInInkAndStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is drunk. Not a rare occurrence with him but what is rare is that his verbal filter seems to have abandoned him and Enjolras is as righteous and perfect as always...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You you daft idiot

**Author's Note:**

> My first Les Mis fic!
> 
> I am in love with this fandom and these characters are just amazing so I hope I can live up to the magnificent fics that already exist and stuff...
> 
>  
> 
> My wonderful Beta for this story was my dear friend Taupe, known on here as Taupefox59 (Check her out cause she rocks) And also that I'm sorry for getting you into this fandom Taupe but if I'm going you're coming too...:P

The meeting was in full swing when Grantaire finally stumbled in. He was roaring drunk already from stopping at a few bars along the way. Enjolras barely spared him a glance before turning back to the room to continue his speech. Grantaire gave a mock bow, narrowly avoiding crashing into the back of Marius’ chair and took his usual seat at the back of the bar. Enjolras’ voice carried like a song, gliding through the artist’s ears as he took another swig from the bottle grasped by his side.

“Grantaire put the bottle down and concentrate.” Enjolras said, exasperated. Grantaire grinned at him. 

“No can do Apollo, I must have my vices. Don’t deny a cynic his pleasures.” He maintained eye contact as he raised the bottle to his lips once more and his smile grew as Enjolras’ face flushed with irritation and he turned his back on Grantaire to address Bossuet and Combfrere. 

“Evening Taire.” Jehan said, hopping up onto the stool beside Grantaire. His long hair was plaited over one shoulder and he brandished a marker pen like a weapon in his slender hands. 

Grantaire cocked his head in greeting. “I’m glad you didn’t say ‘good’” he replied. Jehan laughed and clapped him on the back. 

“I see you’re in pleasant mood as usual my friend.” He said cheerfully. Grantaire gave a half smile and cleared his throat with another swig of wine. 

“So, what lost cause is our illustrious leader trying to salvage this evening?” He asked sarcastically. Jehan took Grantaire’s hand in his and started absently doodling on it. This was something of a habit with the young poet and Grantaire found it rather soothing to watch the fair head bowed in concentration as he worked. 

“Whether breasts should be deemed as sexual or not.” He said simply. Grantaire listened momentarily to Enjolras, catching him mid rant about an incident that had occurred a few days ago in America. 

Grantaire had heard that story, contrary to the popular belief amongst the other members of L’ABC, he did pay attention the news as well as get angered by it. Suzanne Smith had been feeding her daughter as she waited for a bus when a police officer named Michael Fitzsimmons had demanded that she stop feeding her baby as the act was ‘indecent.’ When she refused to stop he’d yanked her back as she walked away and the baby had fallen head first into the concrete floor. Layla had died in hospital, without her mother by her side as she slipped away. Officer Fitzsimmons has been placed on paid leave pending a full investigation and the NYC Police Department has issued a statement expressing their concern regarding this “unfortunate” event and states that all citizens must comply with orders to submit to arrest peacefully so that accidental injuries can be avoided.  
The story had made him sick. He felt hollow and angry and bitter but most of all, the comment the officer made reminded him that human kind was not going to change their ways anytime soon. 

Unlike his friends. Grantaire believed that one small group of barely graduated students can make the changes to unravel everything that was wrong with the world. He chose to forget the trouble around him whereas Enjolras and his band of social justice warriors fought it head on. I guess that makes me a coward of sorts Grantaire mused with another sip of wine. Jehan finished doodling a mini fireworks display curling up his wrist and Grantaire smiled at him and ruffled his hair. 

“We must stand up if we want to make a difference!” Enjolras’ powerful voice penetrated the air. “We must ensure that this never happens again. That women can safely feed their children wherever they need to without being harassed and made to feel indecent and ashamed!” Grantaire tried, though not very hard, to surpress a scoff and a blond halo of hair whipped to face him. “You think this is a joke!” He shouted. “A child is dead!”

“And I would never find that amusing.” Grantaire said, his voice steely. “I am merely in disbelief that you think you can stop this singlehandedly. Some things are beyond even the great Apollo I’m afraid.” He knows that his mocking tone is not the way to get his point across but right now he’s too hurt that Enjolras would think he would find such an event funny. 

Enjolras, as he had every time Grantaire interrupted him, completely missed the certainly too subtle and valid point of his reply and promptly exploded.   
“We can make a difference, petitions to the police and making people aware of the law can make a difference in this.” 

“You cannot expect for a group of French students to undo years of mass media brainwashing that has made us all aware of the female body!” He replied instantly. 

They continued like that for a while. Grantaire having an argument for every point Enjolras made. Grantaire noticed at one point that Joly and Bossuet were talking to Musichetta, who worked behind the bar. Combfrere and Courfayrac were talking amongst themselves and Bahorel and Feuilly were chuckling in a corner, Feuilly leaning up to plant kisses on the taller man’s cheeks. In fact the only two people still listening to the argument was Marius and Jehan sitting side by side and glancing between Grantaire and Enjolras with a mixture of amusement and fright.

“Why are you so infuriatingly naïve Apollo?” Grantaire finally ground out. They were so close that he could see the individual shades of the other’s eyes. Like a glorious kaleidoscope of blues and greys and greens. Grantaire had painted those eyes so many times. Hooded with sleep or arousal, wide in excitement and fear. Though all he actually saw was them narrowed in a scowl or in anger. His hands ached to reach out and rake through that hair, to pull Enjolras close and just feel him, commit every precious detail to memory. He was infuriating and passionate and so… good. 

Grantaire could feel his insides clenching up and fought the urge to reach out for the god in front of him. 

“Naïve and stubborn.” He finished hoarsely. “I wish I could hate you.” Enjolras scoffed and got impossibly closer, his glare enough to freeze the ocean.

“Why wish it? It’s obvious where you stand in your opinion of me. Of this whole cause. Why are you here? Grantaire what is the point of you.” Grantaire downed the rest of his bottle and grabbed the leader by his collar.

“I believe in you you daft idiot.” He said “I always have, I come here for you and nothing else.” Then he left giving Jehan a weak smile as he did so. 

As he left the Musain he glanced back and a look of shock and confusion plastered to Enjolras’ face. Good. Grantaire thought and let the door close behind him.  
It didn’t hit him until about an hour later that what he had done essentially was confess to his some sort of weird obsession with Enjolras which was completely true but still.  
Grantaire groaned and pulled out his phone. Three missed calls. One from Marius and two from Jehan. 

“Jehan what have I done?” He said as soon as the poet picked up. There was a sigh from the other end of the line and Grantaire sank down onto his sofa, burying his head in his hand whilst keeping the phone pressed into his ear. 

“You haven’t done anything that bad.” Jehan said soothingly, Grantaire snorted.

“Jehan I insulted him and said I believed in him. That’s so embarrassing I think I might cry.” He flopped over sideways on the sofa. 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asked, a note of concern colouring his tone now. 

“No. I think I’ll just wallow for a bit and then paint or something.” 

Jehan sighed again and bid him goodnight after promising to visit in the morning and Grantaire threw the phone somewhere behind him and reached for another half empty bottle discarded on the floor but before it could reach his lips there was a knock at the door. Grantaire frowned and got up slowly. Jehan would not have had time to get all the way to his apartment in the space that he’d hung up and none of the other L’ABC members knew exactly where he lived. It could be his landlord but Grantaire had paid his rent earlier this month after he’d done a commission for Cosette’s father. 

He almost fell over when he opened the door and Enjolras was leant against the doorframe. 

“Enjolras? I-“

“I held the door open for you the other week as everyone was leaving.” Enjolras interrupted. “I let you win that argument a few months ago about the education system even though I had so many more things I wanted to say.” He pauses, as if waiting for a response and Grantaire just stares at him confused. 

“So?” He said. Those were all perfectly normal things for someone to do. A little too kind for interactions with Grantaire maybe but perfectly normal nonetheless. 

Enjolras swallowed and paused for a moment before taking one step towards Grantaire. 

“You are really intelligent.” He stated moving past him and into the apartment. Grantaire hurried to close the door and follow him. “You’re talented and witty and you argue with a passion for what you think. You drive me insane and you are never afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. I’m not very good at articulating things like this but I really admire you and I…” He looked imploringly at him and Grantaire felt dizzy all of a sudden. He took a few faltering steps backwards and sank down onto the sofa, too stunned to say anything. Enjolras babbled on, circling the apartment anxiously as he spoke. Grantaire had never heard Enjolras speak like this, with such desperation and confusion in his voice. He wanted to pull the Apollo down and sit still, or pull him down and kiss him quiet. Grantaire felt surprised laughter bubble up in his throat and fought to keep it down. 

“I didn’t realise that was how you felt and I thought that you hated me and that you would never see me the way I saw you so I just never said anything and then you said that you only came here for me and that I was the reason you sat in that bar night after night… So you could be near me and everything just settled.” Grantaire blushed at the mention of his outburst and moved to hide his face then jumping when Enjolras’ hand caught his chin and their eyes met. “I love you Grantaire. I’m terrible at expressing it but I do, with every fibre of my being.” Grantaire’s voice cracked.

“Are you sure? I mean I understand why you wouldn’t I mean I’m nowhere near good enough to be with yo-“Enjolras’ face hardened and he pulled Grantaire to him.

“Don’t you dare say that R. You are amazing and beautiful and you’re you.” Enjolras had never gotten this close to him before. He felt so soft in Grantaire’s arms. Grantaire raised a hand and clasped the golden curls at the nape of his neck. 

Grantaire pressed a kiss to his temple before pulling him impossibly closer. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He felt that if he let go, even for a second then the god would just disappear and Grantaire would just be alone in his flat surrounded by bottles and listening to his own mind as it tormented him with thoughts of what wasn’t his.   
“Please don’t hate me.” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire scoffs and pulls back slightly, hands still firmly clasped about the blonde’s waist. 

“I couldn’t if I tried Apollo.” He whispers, resting his forehead against Enjolras’ with a tiny contented smile.


End file.
